Monsters Sam and Dean Never Fought
by Hazgarn
Summary: Series of short, short crossover stories showcasing creatures that the Winchesters would never have to face, but that I thought might be funny... Which, of course, translates into total crack.
1. Graboids

Crossover with _Tremors_, obviously. Stupid story born of boredom and a conversation with my sister. Further chapters planned for when the mood strikes me. Each one will be a monster the Winchesters will, thankfully, never have to face in "real life".

* * *

Dean paced angrily, running a hand over the expression of despair on his face.

"It ate my car."

Sam sighed from where he sat on the ground long legs folded under him. Scrounging another pebble, he sent it flying. "We can't handle this. We're going to need--"

"That thing ate my car!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs, seething. The sound brought a rumble from below.

"Dean, we're going to need back up. We don't have any way to fight this thing."

Dean looked at Sam, looked at the boulder where they'd taken refuge, and looked at the hole in the baked desert soil where his '67 Chevy Impala had once been parked. He drew his.45. Sam stood up quickly, his hand on his brother's shoulder bringing him to a halt. Barely.

"That guy back in town seemed to know what he was talking about."

Dean tore away from his brother's grasp, but nodded with a defeated grumble. "He better. I'm getting the Impala back if I have to use my bare hands... Those things are toast!"


	2. Graboids, Pt 2

I'd had other, non-Tremors related ideas for this story I'd been planning on doing first. But for some reason, every time I tried to work on them I'd think: "Well, it's just not right of me to leave it like that... That car deserves better!" So here's the conclusion to this part of the madness.

* * *

"You know what, Sammy?" Dean asked, his grin almost manic.

"No. What?"

"I really liked that guy."

At first Sam had been grateful that his brother's mood had rebounded so quickly. Returning to town had earned them some insight into the monsters, and with it the knowledge that the creatures hadn't, in fact, actually _eaten_ his baby. If she survived being brought back up from the baked earth of the desert, the odds were surprizingly high in favor of the Impala living to see another hunt. This had saved them both from a depression that had quickly been gearing up toward what he'd been sure would eventually have become suicidal--or more likely homocidal, knowing Dean.

He thanked Gummer for that information, he truly did. Still, the methods the man had recommended for handling the creatures had been questionable, to say the least...

He watched his brother pilot the small model car over the sand, wheels squealing loudly under the weight of it's...unusual cargo. They sat for perhaps a half hour before, on a cluster of rocks that looked deceptively like the ones they'd been stranded on earlier before the creatures took the bait. The toy was sucked into the earth, and Sam found himself reminded of a bass gulping down a fly. In fact, the expression the near childish glee Dean's face was familiar from those fishing trips they'd take with their dad long ago.

Dean dropped the bulky remote, picking up a very different device. With a grin, he pressed the button.

Standing in the desert heat he suppressed a shiver. There weren't many things Sam Winchester truly thought of as frightening. Clowns were, embarassingly enough, a given. But apart from that--

One thing was for sure. He was going to have to make sure, from this moment on, that Dean never got his hands on dynamite ever again.


	3. Roadrunner

Dean looked at his younger brother, shocked.

"You're giving up?"

Sam stood beneath the glaring desert sun, sand and defeat mixing a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It could be hazardous pulling Dean out of a hunt before he was ready to call it quits, and he himself hated to admit they were done, but they just didn't have the intel they needed to grapple with this creature.

"I don't think we can beat this one, Dean. We've tried everything."

"Shut up and keep looking. Maybe dad--"

"I dont think the journal's going to help us out with this one."

Sam looked down the road again. The horizon was blurred by heat and haze, but in the distance he could see the dust rising.

"And we should get out of here soon, it's coming back this way."

"No. We _have_ to kill that thing." A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched and he shuddered. "That sound, man... That SOUND is driving me crazy!"

The creature sped past them for perhaps the hundredth time that day, sand and weeds kicked up like a small whirlwind in it's wake. Sam put up a hand to shield himself from the flying debris, barely catching a glimpse of the thing as it blurred past them.

"Meep meep!"

"That's it!" Dean shouted, heading for the trunk. His face was flushed with heat and anger as he tore through their arsenal. "Where's the dynamite?"


	4. TROGDOR the BURNiNATOR

Sam leaned against the car with the end of the pen against his lips. He'd been staring at the journal page for about ten minutes while Dean packed up their gear. He was at a loss for words what to put down for this hunt.

He turned to his brother. Only true desperation driving him to look to Dean for answers.

"What the hell was that thing?"

Dean gave a small shrug. He finished the task of oiling the small sword he'd used to kill the thing, sliding it back into it's sheath on the lid of the weapon hatch.

"I dunno," he ventured, "Some kind of wing-a-ling dragon?"

"Wing-a-ling dragon, Dean?"

His brother shrugged again, shutting the trunk and heading toward the driver door. Sam slid into the passenger seat and buckled in, balancing the journal on his knees.

"Could have been some kind of tulpa." He reasoned. It sounded better than Dean's answer, anyway. He wrote it down as a possibility. "It looked like a badly drawn-- I mean, it had an -arm- coming out of it's neck!"

Dean looked over at his brother, his face painted with that long-suffering expression he sometimes wore when Sammy was thinking about things too much. He couldn't keep a hold on it, though, his mouth splitting into a grin.

"Dude, I don't care! I just killed a freakin' DRAGON!"

* * *

And the TROGDOR comes in the NIIIIIIGHT!!

For those of you who have never heard of Trogdor: http://www. homestarrunner. com/sbemail58. html (remove spaces)


	5. Stupid, Stupid Rat Creatures!

I got my verbose groove back on. You can blame my story "The Wild Hunt" for this being so long and wordy. You'd almost think it was serious... If you haven't read the comic "Bone" by Jeff Smith you really, really should. It's a perfect blend of dark and light fantasy, with hidden princesses and dangerous, terrifying monsters... These monsters, however, are not they.

* * *

Sam crouched low as well as he could manage. His head leaning against the rough window sill and the dusty curtains mopped his brow, leaving lines of grime on his face where the stuff mixed with his sweat. Not three feet away Dean had his full weight pressed up against the cabin's thick door. It banged and rattled in it's frame, the sound of claws scrabbling outside occassionally summoning a metallic screech when they scored against the doorknob or the rusted brass hinges. Finally the latch clicked with a successful sound, and Dean dropped into a weary heap on the floor. He looked over toward his brother. 

"How many?" He asked, little breathlessly.

Running away wasn't something either Winchester was very used to. But even Dean was smart enough to know when he was outnumbered. And they were outnumbered. Badly. Ridiculously, it had almost seemed. The creatures had stayed off of the road, for the most part, and though it had been impossible to see them in the woods from the Impala's dark windows on the drive, enough moonlight had pierced the thick trees to see their shapes moving alongside them as they drove. They had come out expecting to find a pack...

Instead they had found a _swarm_.

With a careful motion, Sam let himself up a bit from his crouch, peering up over the sill. He twitched back the curtain and a frown formed between his eyebrows. Silver light glinted off the Impala where it still sat outside the small cabin where they'd been forced to take shelter. The headlights were still on, it seemed, and occassionally the yellow beam would shine, reflecting in the creatures' orb-like red eyes. The car appeared to be completely surrounded. And though it was impossible to tell given his limited view, Sam could guess that most of the clearing outside was filled with the things as well.

"A lot." He answered. From the look on Dean's face, his brother seemed to realize that meant there were more than Sam wanted to bother counting. And as convinced as he was of his brother's nerdy compulsions, that was a fairly bad sign.

"Ah, man." Dean pulled out his gun, ejecting the clip to be sure it was full before sliding it back in with a click. "Just what I need. Being stuck in a cabin surrounded by dozens of...some kind of freaky...rat creatures. What the hell are those things?"

Sam frowned.

"I'm not sure. But... I think I heard one of them say something about...quiche?"

"Quiche?!" Dean repeated, eyes narrowing for a second. "What kind of a monster eats quiche?"

Sam opened his mouth, but didn't have an answer immediately. Not, that is, until the carhorn sounded outside. Turning his attention back to the window, his expression was almost pained at what he saw. The monsters had pried the door open.

"The kind that's in your _car_."

Another sound drew Sam's attention, and he looked over to see his brother standing at the door, hand on the knob. His gun was drawn, and his eyes were wild. Clenching his teeth, his words came out as a growl as he opened the door.

"Stupid, stupid rat creatures."

* * *

Just remove spaces if you want to see them... 

http://i13. photobucket. com/albums/a289/Hazgarn/Stupidstupidratcreatures. jpg

http://i13. photobucket. com/albums/a289/Hazgarn/bone-02. jpg


	6. Foster Farms Chickens

They both stood staring in front of the coffee bar.

On one or two occasions, the brothers had found a hunt, not by research, or even searching at all, but sheer dumb luck. This seemed to be one of those times. But of all the places and all the creatures they might have anticipated to encounter purely out of chance, the idea of happening upon two beings such as these inside a remote roadside convenience store had honestly never occurred to either one of them.

"Sammy... What the hell are those things?" Dean whispered to his brother.

Sam opened his mouth as if to answer, but shut it again as true puzzlement and confusion fought their way across his features.

"I...I think they're...chickens, Dean." He answered finally. There was no surety in his voice whatsoever.

One of the short, dumpy creatures was occupied in tearing salty snacks from the shelves, filling his feathered arms—arms, Sam was almost sure, not wings. The other stood on the tip-toes of his little orange feet, drowning a plate of nachos in hot cheese. The brothers shared a look, uncertainty filling both of their expressions. They both turned to look at the clerk who himself had been staring at the odd spectacle. When they caught his eye, he managed only a helpless shrug. He didn't seem overly concerned, merely glad that he wasn't the only one who saw them.

The brothers looked back at one another, their awkward confusion nearly matched with each other. In his typical impatience, it was Dean who spoke first.

"Well, fine, Sam. But what the hell do we do with 'em?"

"Maybe we should wait and see if they pay." A defeated tone seemed to have crept into his voice.

Dean didn't seem very sure about Sam's solution, but in his circumstances he wasn't going to argue. In any case, he wasn't given much time for debate. To the clerk's uncomfortable relief (and Dean's mild disappointment), the odd avian creatures brought their burdens to the counter. Shaking his head disgustedly, Dean turned to the isles hoping to find something sufficiently sweet or greasy to distract himself from the whole embarrassing mess...and something caffeinated. He still found himself glancing back at the counter occasionally, but this encounter seemed destined to end without further fuss.

"Huh." Sam said finally, as the freakish fowl exited the store. They nodded briefly at the brothers in what could be supposed a friendly manner as they waddled past. "I guess they were harmless enough."

Dean answered Sam with a dismissive wave of the hand, wanting to drop the subject. And then they both heart the noise. Nails on a chalk board—even an acheri demon's hideous claws—could have produced a sound to run a harsher chill up Sam's spine. He saw Dean's posture stiffen.

They'd seen the jalopy out in the parking lot before entering the store: A relic so encrusted with rust and primer that it had seemed ready to dissolve away into dust at a touch. Dean had even scrawled the message "WaSH ME!" into the grime on the back pane. It otherwise wasn't the type of machine he'd catch himself dead looking at other wise. He certainly would not have expected it to survive the scraping, rough collision its back end made with the Impala. The encounter left the car's glossy black paint with a scarred by a pale, mud-streaked scratch.

Sam could almost have sworn he heard Dean's sanity shatter.

"Harmless or not, they're friggin' dead!"

* * *

A/N--This scenario was funnier to me before I actually wrote it out... I might have to start taking requests... I've realized I'm getting a little repetitive. I'll try to avoid the Impala punchline from now on...I promise.


End file.
